Another remarkable member of the community was Mrs Chouler, the wife of the aged gamekeeper, whose conjugal indignation was aroused one evening by the following incident. The order of the day, or rather night, had been charades, and finding that the hour was not late, we determined to eke out our performance with a word which had a local and limited interest. The day had been memorable to the family circle, on account of our young lord having made his first appearance in full and regular costume of the Pytchley Hunt. To commemorate so auspicious an event, we chose the word “Althorp.” First scene—the whole of the Dramatic Company assembled on the stage. Second scene—the great “Thorpe,” the stately house-steward before mentioned in solitary splendour. Third scene—Viscount Althorp in full hunting garb. The curtain fell amid deafening plaudits. Next day we called on Mrs Chouler, in her pretty house at the end of the avenue, and inquired her opinion of last night’s performance. “Well, Miss Mary,” she said, “of course if my lord thought proper, it was all right, but I think it struck most people as very odd that Thorpe should be bowing and scraping on the stage, when Chouler has lived in the family years and years before him.” Our expostulations were useless, it was in vain we tried to point out that “all Chouler” would not have answered, and I feel that to her dying day the memory of that evening’s festivity rankled in the mind of that faithful retainer.
Another time I paid Mrs Chouler a visit in company with what she used to call “The two Captains,” my brother Cavendish, and Captain Quin, R.N., Lord Spencer’s nephew. Says the latter: “You have a very good memory—can you tell me the name of the vessel my uncle Bob[[64]] had, in such and such a year? Neither Lord Spencer nor I can remember?” After a little discussion on the subject, Captain Quin suddenly exclaimed: “Oh, yes, by-the-by, I know now; it was the Owen Glendower.” “To be sure, sir, to be sure, that is it; I knew it was something of a sea-nymph.”
[64]. The Honourable Robert Spencer R.N.
The Choulers were an estimable couple, the old husband survived his wife many years, and when I last saw him, shortly before his death, still wearing his velveteen shooting-coat, with his long white hair falling on his shoulders, he looked like a figure out of one of Rembrandt’s beautiful pictures which had stepped out of its frame. He lived to the age of ninety-six.
Lord Spencer was very fond of frequenting his well-filled stables and conversing with his stud-groom as to the names and qualifications of their inmates. One day he remarked to him: “I have been thinking over the selection of a name for the new mare, but I cannot please myself yet.” “Well, my lord,” was the answer, “you bought her on the 29th of May; why not call her the ‘Merry Monarch?’” “Well,” said his master, striving to conceal a smile, “I think that will scarcely do; perhaps we had better call her ‘Empress,’ in honour of the Empress Eugénie.” “Very good, my lord, then I shall have nothing to do but to change the tablet over Emperor’s stall by adding an ‘s’ to it!” What an easy solution to a difficulty.
The library was also rich in characters. One of its keepers, Mr Jakeman, knew the position of every single book in its seven rooms. He was an excellent and eccentric-looking man, whom we named “Dominie Sampson.” His predecessor was a short, thick-set little man, who complained once to my brother that the then Lord Spencer did not keep up the honour of the library sufficiently, as he had discontinued some of the principal works. “Well, now, Captain,” he would say, “for instance, my lord has never taken in the last numbers of the ‘Newgate Calendar.’” Read was his name, but not his nature; he was very deaf, and even I, who flattered myself I knew how to make the deaf hear, found a difficulty in his case. He told us that some years before, he had had a heavy cold and it had fallen on his hearing; it must indeed have been very heavy.
DEATH OF FREDERIC, EARL SPENCER
It was in the Christmas of the year 1857 that a large party was assembled at Althorp, including my brother Cavendish, his wife, their eldest boy and myself; but alas! the chief part of the guests were obliged to disperse, and the happy season was turned into mourning by the sudden death of our noble host, Frederic, Lord Spencer, leaving a whole household, a large tenantry, and a wide circle of friends to mourn his premature death. We remained on for some days to share in the common grief of his widow and children. But his successor never slackened in kindness and hospitality to the inmates of the Weedon prison, and the “Gaoler,” as he was familiarly called, was still welcome in the old home, and still continued the charge he had undertaken of the precious Library, finding in Sarah Spencer[[65]] an invaluable colleague in this labour of love.
[65]. Sister of the present Earl Spencer.
I trust I have not been led into too long a digression in this record of the days which are no more, bound up as they are with fond memories of beloved companions, concerning whom it is a sad delight to converse with the dear cousin to whom I have dedicated these pages.